


(I've Been Meaning To Say) Stay With Me

by AppleTaters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Even though Stiles doesn't realize because Derek's form of pining is being angry, If you get the toast sandwich reference you're my new best friend, M/M, Mutual Pining, Stiles constantly trying not to pop a boner in Derek's presence, Stiles watches Buzzfeed Unsolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24754966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleTaters/pseuds/AppleTaters
Summary: Five times Derek showed up uninvited in Stiles' bedroom + one time he stayed
Relationships: Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 396





	(I've Been Meaning To Say) Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged it underage because Stiles is underage for most of it, even though nothing actually happens until he's eighteen. HOWEVER I have recently had a moral epiphany and I will no longer be writing Sterek where Stiles is still in high school, because I would never want any teenager to take my fanfiction as ENCOURAGEMENT to go into the real world and date an adult. I did it, and it ruined years of my life and left me with trauma I'm still healing from. If a grown ass person is trying to date you while you're still in high school, please please please talk to an adult you trust because there is no good reason for a fully matured adult to be pursuing someone whose brain is still so early in its development. That's it, I'll get off my soapbox now.

The first time Derek Hale spends the night in Stiles’ bed, it doesn’t go quite how Stiles imagined it would. Not that Stiles spends a lot of time picturing Derek in his bed! Well, okay, he does _occasionally_ , but no one could really blame him, right? Derek is all muscles and tattoos and leather jackets— when he wasn’t just walking around shirtless, _Jesus_ — and stubble that Stiles wants to feel, like, all over his body, and big, strong hands that he’s constantly using to angrily shove Stiles against nearby vertical surfaces and, okay, Stiles needed to stop this line of thinking before he made his current situation even more awkward by popping an unwelcome boner. 

Derek Hale, alpha werewolf and the catalyst for Stiles’ year-old bisexual awakening, was sprawled half-naked on his back in Stiles’ bed. Unfortunately, unlike in Stiles’ top-secret (and completely natural, okay, he’s a healthy teenage boy who has _eyes_ , so sue him) fantasies, the quiet moans Derek was emitting from his perfect, sinful mouth had nothing to do with Stiles, and more to do with the blood that was spilling from the deep gashes marring his right side. Something— or rather, some _one_ — had dug their claws in and _ripped,_ and Stiles winced at the sight of the crimson seeping through Derek’s fingers and pooling on the bed and _aw, man,_ he’d have to throw out yet another perfectly good set of sheets!

Stiles had been minding his own business, catching up on the newest season of Unsolved, when he’d heard a clatter behind him. He turned around in his desk chair just in time to see Derek Hale practically fall through his window and immediately collapse on the floor. Confusion quickly turned into panic as he noticed the way Derek’s hand was pressed firmly against his side, where his black t-shirt was suspiciously wet and sticking to his skin. 

“Holy shit, Derek!” Stiles had shouted and scrambled to the wolf’s side, for once thankful that his dad’s job kept him out of the house so much. He’d gotten much better at lying over the past year, but _this_ would have been pretty hard to explain.

“What the fuck happened, dude?” he asked frantically, his hands hovering uselessly over Derek’s wounds. He’d stitched up his own wounds plenty of times, but they’d never been as bad as this.

“Rival pack,” Derek said through gritted teeth, his breaths coming quick and shallow, “and don’t call me _dude_.”

Relief flooded through Stiles, and he sat back on his heels with a small smile. Derek must not be on the brink of death if he still had the energy to be grumpy. 

“So what can I do you for?” he asked the werewolf, wondering why he’d come to Stiles’ house, of all places.

“I just need… somewhere to rest… until I heal,” Derek spoke in short bursts, like he couldn’t get enough air to finish a sentence in one breath, and Stiles winced.

“Broken ribs?”

“No shit…. Sherlock,” Derek muttered, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Ribs always take a while to heal,” Stiles said, and pursed his lips in thought. He knew where this was going, and he was decidedly _not_ a fan, but he also knew he was pretty much incapable of saying no when one of the pack asked him for help. He looked down at Derek, lying prone on the carpet with his eyes screwed shut in pain, and sighed in resignation. 

“My dad won’t be back until the morning, so you can sleep it off in my bed.”

Stiles stood up, grabbing for Derek’s right hand, since his left was currently holding his guts in.

“Come on sourwolf, upsie-daisy,” Stiles said as he pulled the larger man to his feet. It was a testament to how weak he was that Derek didn’t even protest as Stiles helped him limp over to the teen’s bed and gently lowered him onto the edge. 

Stiles took a steadying breath and reached for the hem of Derek’s bloody shirt. Derek hissed as Stiles tugged the fabric away from the wounds, but dutifully raised his arms so Stiles could pull it up and off. The sight of Derek’s washboard abs, always a treat for ol' Stiles, was only slightly less erotic given the circumstances, and Stiles hurriedly turned away, throwing the bloody shirt in his trash can. Derek moaned softly as he arranged himself horizontally on the bed, the movements jostling his broken ribs. 

And that brings us back to where we began, with our dashing hero trying desperately to tamp down his racing thoughts about Derek Hale being _shirtless_ in his _bed,_ lest the wounded werewolf smell his burgeoning arousal and come to some disturbing conclusions about Stiles’ sexual proclivities.

“I will heal… eventually,” Derek bit out, “just have to… wait it out.”

“Uh, okay,” Stiles said eloquently, and worried at his bottom lip with his teeth as he considered his options.

He quickly decided that he (and his top-secret not-boner) would be safer sleeping on the couch downstairs than on his bedroom floor (in the same room as the man who was the root cause of his top-secret not-boner).

Finally tearing his eyes away from the surreal image of Derek Hale in his bed (seriously, he still wasn’t over it), Stiles sat down heavily in his desk chair and grabbed his phone to send a message to the pack group chat.

_D currently covered in blood at the Stillinski residence,_ he typed quickly, and then realized how that sounded. _He’ll be fine but he’s staying here tonight to heal._ Hopefully that would keep the others from worriedly swarming the house.

“So really, what happened, man?” Stiles asked Derek, leaning forward to convey that he was a good listener, a little tip he’d picked up from hanging around detectives as a kid. Of course, his loose lips immediately betrayed him.

“Where did the rival pack come from? How did you get away? Are they gonna come after you? Why didn’t you call us?”

Derek tried to glare at the barrage of questions, but the effect was somewhat dimmed by the cautious way he moved his head. 

“I’m the… alpha.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Yes, _Der-bear_ , I know. How could I possibly forget, when you insist on reminding us every fucking day?” the teen teased, leaning back in the chair and spinning it back and forth idly.

“Seriously, are you trying to like, give yourself a catch phrase? ‘Cus, I’ll be honest, _’I’m the alpha’_ isn’t actually that cool. You could definitely do better.”

Derek grunted, either in amusement or annoyance. Probably the latter.

“Anyway,” Stiles ran a hand through his hair and tried to get himself back on-topic, “that’s not the point. The point is you and your annoying habit of always getting attacked by the big bads when the pack isn’t around. Sometimes it seems like you’re actually _trying_ to get caught.”

Derek was silent. Suspiciously silent.

Stiles looked to the heavens, praying for strength, and then turned back to the werewolf on his bed with pleading eyes.

“Derek, please don’t tell me you confronted a rival pack by yourself _on purpose_.”

Derek grunted again, but this time it sounded… guilty.

“Oh my god, you did!” Stiles exclaimed, gesticulating wildly to try to convey how monumentally moronic that was, because words were failing him (a rare occurrence).

“It worked, didn’t it?” Derek said finally, but he at least had the sense to sound somewhat chastised.

“Derek, you know I’m ecstatic that you’re alive,” Stiles began, and a strange look flitted briefly across Derek’s features, “but you won’t be for much longer if you keep insisting on trying to handle threats single-handedly, you great big doofus! The point of being the alpha is to lead us, not to try to handle the pack’s problems alone! We’re not kids anymore, man, we’ve been through so much bullshit together. When will you finally learn to trust us to work as a _team?_ Your spooky red eyes and alpha powers can only get you so far, and if you keep running off on your own then you’ll get yourself _murked_ and we’ll be left without an alpha, and _Scott_ will have to be the alpha, and then we’ll _really_ be fucked, so just— don’t do that, alright?”

He didn’t realize he had jumped to his feet at some point in his tirade, but he found himself pacing beside the bed, his hands jerking in constant, agitated motion. There was nervous energy buzzing just under his skin, and Stiles idly wondered if he’d taken his meds today.

“… _Murked?_ ” Derek said finally, and Stiles huffed a laugh, forcing himself to stop pacing.

“I’ve been watching a lot of videos about true crime,” he said, feeling slightly embarrassed at his outburst. Even though he was _right_ , and someone had to talk some sense into Derek, it was still just a little nerve-wracking that he’d basically just _told off_ an alpha werewolf right to his face, fangs and all. Stiles wasn’t a werewolf. He wasn’t a supernatural creature of any kind, and he couldn’t even do cool hunter stuff like Allison. He was just like… the pack’s pet human, who they mostly kept around for comic relief. And Derek didn’t exactly make it a secret that he thought of Stiles as more of a nuisance than anything. But the alpha didn’t seem angry, so Stiles dared to hope that his throat wouldn’t be ripped out while he slept.

“You’re right, Stiles… I’m… sorry,” Derek grunted, as though it pained him to say the words out loud.

Stiles blinked.

“Oh. Cool. Well, anyway, I’m just gonna…” Stiles said awkwardly, and jerked his thumb towards the door.

“Do you need anything before I pass out on the couch?”

Derek just stared at him in silence, and Stiles started counting in his head. He got to eleven before Derek finally opened his mouth.

“Stay,” he said, and then shook his head like that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Even though he’d had eleven whole seconds to think it over.

“I mean, don’t sleep… on the couch… I didn’t mean to… kick you out… I can share.”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to stare in silence, completely caught off guard by this very un-Derek behavior. Of course then his incessant need to talk kicked in, and he started babbling.

“You want me to sleep with you? I mean, sleep in bed with you. Next to you! Whatever! But you want to share a bed. With me.”

Stiles shook his head slightly, trying to shake off his swelling anxiety.

“Wouldn’t that be kinda weird?” he asked finally, praying the universe would have mercy on him and the werewolf would rescind his unusually kind offer.

“It won’t be weird… unless… you make it weird,” Derek said with a smirk. 

Stiles hesitated, fearing a resurgence of his top-secret not-boner, but he couldn’t think of an excuse that wouldn’t potentially clue Derek in to the existence of his top-secret not-boner. So, he just shrugged and walked back towards his desk, unzipping his red hoodie and draping it over the back of the chair. His life was already so goddamn weird, this might as well happen too, right? He toed off his shoes and then, trying not to let Derek see that his hands were shaking, shimmied out of his jeans. 

He turned back to the bed, where Derek lay stock-still, staring at the ceiling like the meaning of life was spelled out in its peeling paint and water stains. Trying to be nonchalant, all the while knowing Derek could hear the tell-tale pounding of his heart anyway, Stiles walked to the other side of the bed, pulled the sheets back, and laid down. Next to Derek Hale. _Holy shit, he was in bed with Derek._ Sure, Derek was only there because he was grievously injured, and Derek’s side of the bed was wet with blood, and Stiles was under the covers while Derek was lying on top of them like a weirdo… but still! The bed was a queen (thank god he’d finally upgraded from the twin bed he’d had a year ago) but Derek was still close enough that Stiles could feel the heat radiating from his supernaturally-warm body, lying only inches away. Stiles could touch him, if he just reached out a hand…

Fully aware that such thoughts were going to land him a one-way ticket to Inappropriate Boner City (population: Stiles), he took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence, during which Stiles was painfully aware of Derek’s every breath, his heart-rate finally slowed to a more normal rhythm, and he felt himself start to drift off. As he teetered on the precipice of sleep, he thought he heard Derek mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “goodnight”, but he must have already been dreaming.

The next thing Stiles knew, he was woken up by the sound of his father trudging tiredly up the creaking stairs. Without opening his eyes, Stiles knew that it was early morning, and that Derek had already gone. He sleepily moved his hand over the covers, but all his fingers found were cold, bloodstained sheets. 

…

Stiles was hunched over his desk (an hour into a Wikipedia binge that had started with legitimate research for an English paper he was supposed to be writing, and somehow landed him on the article for “toast sandwich”) when he heard his window sliding open behind him. 

Immediately assuming the worst, that one of the pack was on the brink of death _again_ , Stiles scrambled to his feet and turned around, only to find Derek leaning against the wall next to the window, casually taking a bite out of an apple.

Stiles fidgeted, waiting for bad news, but it seemed none was forthcoming. 

“Hey,” Derek said around a mouthful of apple.

“Hey,” Stiles replied in turn, still somewhat wary.

Derek moved away from the wall and sat down on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the half-eaten apple in his hands as he chewed. Stiles tried and failed not to watch Derek’s neck flex as he swallowed.

“How was school?” he asked. His voice was easygoing, but Stiles noted the tense line of his shoulders and how he avoided looking at Stiles directly. 

What on earth was going on here? Had Derek been possessed by an unusually polite demon?

“Uh, it was good, I guess,” Stiles said finally, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, a nervous habit left over from his buzzcut days.

“Cool,” Derek said, staring at the wall next to Stiles’ head.

“Yeah,” Stiles paused, giving Derek a chance to state his purpose in showing up unannounced in Stiles’ bedroom, but the werewolf just cast his gaze around the room curiously.

“So, uh, are you…”

Derek finally looked at him.

“No offense, but is there, like, a reason you’re here?” Stiles blurted out, and bit his lip.

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh, um,” Derek looked down at the apple in his hands.

“Yeah, I was hoping you could do some research for me, on… on vampires.”

Stiles groaned loudly, and Derek looked up again, eyebrows nearing his hairline.

“Are you for fucking real, there are fucking _vampires_ in Beacon Hills now? I didn’t even know they were _real!_ Jesus Christ, I really was stupid enough to think I could go _one month_ without having to risk life and limb against some immortal supernatural being, but _no_ —“

“Stiles!” Derek barked, his eyes flashing, and Stiles shut his mouth with a click as Derek fixed him with an intense stare. This was much more familiar territory for his relationship with the alpha werewolf, and Stiles was almost relieved by the other man’s return to form. At least when Derek was practicing the three G’s— Growling, Glaring, and Grievous bodily harm— Stiles knew exactly what to expect.

“There aren’t any vampires, okay? I just wanted…” Derek paused, swallowed, and looked away.

“I just want to, y’know, be ready. In case there are, someday.”

“Okay,” Stiles said slowly, “I guess that makes sense. It would be pretty nice to not be trying to do research when we’re already under threat. Always Be Prepared, and all that jazz.”

“Exactly,” Derek said, looking relieved, and got to his feet.

“I’ll let you work on your paper then. And, uh, I won’t bother you again unless it’s something life-threatening,” Derek said with a tight smile.  
“Scout’s honor.”

Stiles opened his mouth to respond that he didn’t _mind_ having Derek there, he was just _confused,_ but before he could get a word out, Derek had already jumped out the window and disappeared.

…

Derek made good on his promise; it had been months— and a handful of averted catastrophes— since Derek had shown up unannounced in Stiles’ bedroom. Stiles had noted with wonder that Derek had seemingly taken his advice about teamwork to heart. He was generally being more communicative with the pack, and not even once did he try to run off alone to save the day. Unfortunately, the next time Derek climbed through Stiles’ window, things got a lot more confusing for our dashing hero (Stiles, that is). 

It was a Saturday night and Stiles had been lounging on his bed, reading old comic books and thinking about shoving a hand into his jeans to relieve the slight _tension_ he’d been ignoring for the past hour. Then he saw something that made him very, very glad that he still had his pants on. That _something_ was two glowing red eyes outside his window, watching him.

“Derek, what the fuck!” Stiles yelped, and scrambled off his bed to open the window, coming eye-to-eye with a werewolf.

“What the hell are you doing sitting outside my window in the dark like a… like a _creeper_?”

Derek didn’t answer him, but he looked down guiltily to where his claws were gouging into the wooden slats of the roof, and heaved a sigh.

Stiles barely restrained from waving a hand in front of his nose; Derek’s breath _reeked_ of alcohol and wolfsbane. He noticed now how the wolf swayed slightly as if a light breeze could send him tumbling from the second story.

“Are you _drunk?_ ” Stiles asked incredulously. In the two years he’d known the man, he had never seen him like this. Derek was never one to let his guard down, and yet here he was, absolutely plastered.

“I should go,” the werewolf muttered, but he didn’t move, just continued staring down at his hands. Then, Stiles heard something he never _ever_ expected to hear, and his chest felt physically constricted by a sudden and unexpected wave of crushing emotion. 

Derek was _crying_.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Stiles said, doing his best to sound soothing, and reached out to comfort the other man before thinking better of it and pulling his hands back. He didn’t really want to get any fingers mutilated by a jumpy werewolf tonight.

Derek was seriously _crying_ , making cute little sniffling noises and everything, and Stiles had no idea what to do. He never would have predicted he’d be in this situation. Sure, he knew intellectually that Derek must cry sometimes. He’d be totally inhuman if he didn’t get overwhelmed by all the frankly _horrible_ things he’d had to endure. Stiles just never expected Derek to cry _in front of him,_ and the reality of it was somewhat terrifying.

But Derek had come here, had come to find Stiles, which must mean he wanted some form of comfort, right? Coming to a decision, Stiles tamped down the multiple, contradictory emotions currently duking it out for space in his heart, and tried to coax the teary-eyed wolf into his room.

“Come on big guy, let’s get you inside,” Stiles said and, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t be maimed for it, he gently took the werewolf’s hands and tugged, until Derek got the hint and carefully dislodged his claws from the roof.

“There we go, come on,” he continued in a gentle voice, taking a step back and guiding Derek in through the window until the werewolf was standing in front of him, uncharacteristically unsteady on his feet. Derek’s gaze was fixed on their joined hands, and Stiles tried to pull away, embarrassed, but the other man just tightened his grip.

Derek muttered something Stiles didn’t understand in a wavering voice, and then cleared his throat and tried again.

“Tomorrow is the anniversary…” he said, more clearly but still barely above a whisper. 

“It’s been eight years since—” his words cut off with a choked-back sob.

_Oh,_ Stiles thought. _Oh fuck._

“Since the fire, you mean?” Stiles tried to match Derek’s quiet tone.

Derek nodded, and then moved a step closer into Stiles’ space and… buried his face in Stiles’ shoulder. The werewolf inhaled deeply through his nose, and his hands were now grasping tightly at Stiles’ thin waist. Thankfully, it seemed the claws had been retracted.

Now Derek was practically _hugging_ him, and Stiles once again had no idea how to react. Telling himself that Derek was the one initiating the contact, and therefore it was _probably_ safe to reciprocate, Stiles slowly wrapped his arms around the werewolf, giving him plenty of time to back away if that wasn’t what he wanted. One of Stiles’ hands came to rest on the nape of Derek’s neck, where he rubbed his thumb back and forth in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

He didn’t realize he was making quiet shooshing noises until Derek interrupted him.

“Smell _so good,_ ” he mumbled, and turned his face into Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply, “like home. _Stiles._ ”

Okay, this embrace had abruptly taken a weird turn, and Stiles’ top-secret not-boner was threatening to make an appearance, which would be _so_ inappropriate. He didn’t even have words to describe how inappropriate that would be. It wasn’t his fault though, not when Derek kept rubbing his nose against Stiles’ throat and— wait, was that his lips? Did Derek Hale just _kiss his neck_?

“Derek,” Stiles croaked, and his mind went blank at the feeling of Derek mouthing over his pulse. He quickly came to his senses, however, reminding himself cruelly that Derek didn’t _actually_ want this. Derek didn’t want _him_. This was just a weird coping mechanism, a desperate distraction from his overwhelming grief.

Stiles released his hold on Derek and stepped backwards, putting some much-needed space between them before he gave in and did something _really_ stupid, like kiss his alpha.

Derek honest-to-god _whined_ in the back of his throat, and tried to step closer, but Stiles held Derek at arm’s length with a hand splayed on his chest.

“Stop. You’re drunk, Derek,” Stiles said, sounding sadder than he’d intended, as he took another step backwards.

Derek didn’t try to follow him this time. His hands dropped to his sides, balled into fists, and he turned stiffly away from Stiles.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said quietly. He took a single wobbly step towards the window, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere, big guy,” Stiles said, grabbing for Derek’s arm before he could pull off his classic disappearing act.

Derek looked down at Stiles’ hand on his arm, and then up at Stiles’ face, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. 

“I don’t think you should be alone right now, so I’ve decided you’re sleeping with me tonight,” Stiles said, and then cringed at his choice of words, letting go of Derek’s arm. 

“I mean, you’re sleeping _here_. With me. Next to me!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the bed behind him, hoping by some miracle that Derek hadn’t noticed his blush.

“You want me to stay?” Derek asked hesitantly, and Stiles felt a concerning tug on his heart as he looked into Derek’s tired eyes.

“Yeah, sourwolf,” he said finally, softly.

“I want you to stay.”

Stiles managed to get Derek to take off his leather jacket before the werewolf collapsed face-down on the bed, but he was still wearing his shirt, pants, and boots. Stiles grimaced, sending up a silent _“why me?”_ towards the general direction of the heavens before he unlaced Derek’s boots and tugged them off, letting them fall to the floor with a dull thud. Stiles quickly decided, in the interest of preserving his sanity, not to try to wrangle the alpha out of his tight black jeans.

Stiles peeled off his Beacon High sweatshirt and draped it over the back of his chair, wondering again what had happened to his old favorite red hoodie. He felt a strange sense of deja vu as he toed off his sneakers and shed his jeans. Looking down at himself, he took a second to be embarrassed of his batman boxers before shrugging, figuring he wasn’t the only one making a fool of himself tonight. Derek was seemingly dead to the world anyway, lying on top of the covers with his arms shoved under the pillow.

Stiles turned off the light and crawled under the sheets beside Derek. The other man’s face was turned towards him, and Stiles felt his lips turn up in a fond smile as he took in the werewolf’s peaceful expression. As if sensing his presence mere inches away, Derek shifted in his sleep until he was pressed tightly against Stiles’ right side, his arm slung over Stiles’ body. The wolf snuggled his face into the side of Stiles’ neck, and made a satisfied humming sound.

Finally letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Stiles fought the inexplicable urge to turn his head and press a kiss to Derek’s forehead. Knowing the werewolf would undoubtedly regret everything in the morning, the teenager turned away and willed himself to relax.

Stiles lay awake for what felt like hours, but he must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up the next morning to sunlight streaming through the window, an empty bed, and a text from Derek that stated simply, _Thank you._

…

Our dashing hero was soundly beating strangers at Fortnite one warm Summer afternoon, only to let out a manly shriek and flail spectacularly when Derek appeared suddenlybeside him. 

Ripping out his earbuds, Stiles spun around and aimed a kick at the werewolf’s shin, which he deftly sidestepped with a grin.

“Seriously Derek, stop randomly climbing through my window!” the teen cried, though there was no real malice behind it. He actually liked it when Derek snuck into his room, not that he’d ever admit it, even to himself. Recently, all Stiles’ Derek-related feelings got thrown into a mental lockbox, never to see the light of day. It was for the best. Really.

Derek froze, his eyes wide, and Stiles barely had a second to wonder what he’d done wrong before Scott appeared in the doorway, looking confused. _Ah_. 

“Does Derek… climb through your bedroom window… a lot?” Scott asked hesitantly, looking between Derek and Stiles with a wary expression.

Stiles ignored his friend’s question, knowing that the truth— and he couldn’t lie, not to a werewolf— might cause his friend to infer certain _things_ about him and Derek. Things that weren’t true. Unfortunately.

“What are you guys doing here?” he asked instead, aiming another kick at Derek, who was just standing there stock-still with a scared expression frozen on his face. Let the record show that Derek Hale, for all his experience being brooding and dark, is actually a _horrible_ actor.

Derek finally snapped out of it, dodging Stiles’ second attack, and moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, looking just a bit too familiar with his surroundings. Scott raised his eyebrows at Stiles, who shook his head minutely, praying that his friend would just drop it. Scott replied with a look that clearly communicated that he and Stiles would be having a _talk_ later, and then threw himself down on the bed next to his alpha. 

“Your dad let us in,” Scott said just as Allison and Isaac came in, walking noticeably close together. Stiles didn’t miss the downturn of Scott’s mouth as he noted his girlfriend’s proximity to the other werewolf, nor did he miss the wistful glances Isaac was throwing at Scott. Stiles made a mental note to talk to Scott and somehow convince him to get his head out of his furry ass and open his relationship with Allison to include Isaac, who had been very obviously pining after both of them for months.

Honestly, sometimes Stiles felt like the pack therapist.

“Did I miss a memo or something?” Stiles asked as Erica and Boyd walked in too because seriously, was the entire pack here?

“All of us were hanging out at the mall and— don’t look at me with those pouty eyes, man, we just ran into each other,” Scott explained, and Stiles’ frown deepened. He wasn’t _pouting_ , he was just… less than enthused by the idea of his friends making plans that excluded him. He knew he would always be an afterthought, since he was the only one without a cool, deadly skill, but he still didn’t like to be _reminded_. He also knew that craving co-dependence with a rag-tag team of _creatures that go bump in the night_ was less than normal for a high schooler but hey, when had Stiles _ever_ done what was good for him?

Before Stiles could fall too deeply down that self-effacing rabbit hole, Erica jumped in, continuing the explanation where Scott left off.

“And then Derek showed up, and he was all _‘Where’s Stiles, this is wrong, we need to find Stiles immediately’,_ ” Erica said in a mocking impression of the alpha’s gravelly voice.

Derek made a strange choked-off noise but, before he could protest his beta’s version of events, Lydia sauntered in with Jackson hot on her heels, and added her own commentary.

“He even tried to pull the alpha card to get us here, as if we weren’t all thinking about it already,” she tossed her red hair over her shoulder with an eye roll.

“Wait, wait,” Stiles said, looking around his room, now packed with six werewolves, a hunter, and a banshee.

“You guys all ran into each other at the mall and then… you decided to just show up at my house?”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Allison piped up, shooting him an apologetic look. 

Stiles grabbed his phone off his desk, noting that he indeed had multiple missed calls from every member of the pack, including Jackson. He must not have heard the vibrations over the sound of his game.

“It felt weird that we were all there except you, so we decided to just crash,” Isaac added with a small shrug.

Stiles reflexively tried to push down the sudden rush of emotion he felt, though he knew most of his friends could smell it on him anyway. Stupid wolf-y senses. 

“Aw, you guys, that’s so sweet,” he said sincerely.

“It’s not that sweet,” Derek muttered, fidgeting with the left cuff of his leather jacket, but Stiles wasn’t fooled by his show of apathy. He knew Derek was happy that the pack had become so close under his leadership, not that he’d ever say it.

“What were you doing at the mall anyway, sourwolf?” Stiles asked, throwing Derek a lifeline out of all the mushy _feelings_. Besides, he was actually curious; it was hard to imagine the prickly alpha doing something so pedestrian as eating Cinnabon.

“I was at Claire’s,” Derek replied flatly.

“I’ve been thinking about getting my ears pierced.”

The teen just stared in silence, uncomfortably uncertain as to whether Derek was being serious or not, until the other man’s lips quirked up in a small smile, giving him away.

“Okay, am I imagining things, or did Derek ‘Throat-Ripper’ Hale just make a _joke?”_

Jackson let out a scandalized noise from where he leaned against the wall.

“I really don’t need the details of what Hale does to your _throat_ , Stillinski,” he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Stiles felt his face burn, and Derek looked like his eyes were going to bulge out of his head in horror as the beta’s meaning sunk in.

“Jackson!” Lydia said sternly, and her boyfriend’s gaze quickly dropped in submission. He might be a total meathead, but even Whittemore knew enough to be afraid of Lydia Martin.

Scott just seemed confused by the whole exchange, bless his pure little heart, but Isaac got a weird look on his face. 

“Does this have something to do with Derek’s anchor changing?” he asked, not noticing his alpha immediately fixing him with an icy glare.

“That explains _so much_ , oh my god, I’ve been wondering for months why Derek always smells like—”

Suddenly, Derek was on his feet, growling furiously, and the beta went silent, baring his neck instinctively at his alpha’s show of dominance.

“Alright, fun time’s over, everyone go home,” Derek bit out, and then stalked out of the room, his angry footsteps thundering down the stairs.

“Well goodbye to you, too!” Stiles shouted after him, and shook his head in amusement. After two years of forced socialization with the pack, Derek’s manners were still straight-up feral sometimes. He tried to exchange a _look_ with Scott, but his best friend was busy staring at the still-cowering Isaac with a concerned expression. Yeah, Stiles needed to talk to Scott about Isaac and Allison, and soon. Honestly, they were all being unbelievably oblivious. How could they not see what was so clearly right in front of them?

Stiles cast his gaze around at his friends, who’d driven across town just to see _him_ , and decided to make the best of it, with or without Derek’s grumpy ass.

Later, as Stiles watched Allison battle Boyd in the final round of their Mario Kart tournament, Stiles caught himself wishing that the alpha had stayed, and taken the chance to just be _normal_ for once. _He never stays_ , Stiles reminded himself harshly, and focused his attention back on the game, just in time to watch Allison cross the finish line, Boyd coming in close second. As the pack erupted in a cacophony of cheers, groans, and way too many high fives, Stiles plastered a grin on his face and tried to push Derek firmly out of his mind. 

_Who needs a sourwolf, anyway? Not Stiles, that's who._

And yet, for the rest of the night, he couldn’t stop his eyes from returning, unbidden, to his open bedroom window.

…

Stiles was rudely awoken by the sound of his window slamming open, the glass rattling ominously with the force. 

“What—” Stiles mumbled, still half asleep, as he heard Derek drop to the floor. He didn’t know how he knew, he just _knew_ that it was Derek, and his sleep-addled brain didn’t think much of it. He quickly woke up, however, when he felt a warm body over his own, the werewolf’s knees and forearms resting either side of him, forming a protective cage around the smaller man. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice shaking, “you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Derek, why? What’s wrong? What happened?” Stiles twisted around onto his back so he could see Derek’s face. His eyes were wide as his gaze flitted over Stiles’ features as if he was making sure he was all there. Seemingly satisfied that Stiles was indeed safe and sound, Derek went boneless on top of him, burying his face in the teen’s neck. 

Before he could think too hard about it, Stiles’ wrapped his arms around the werewolf’s back, curling his fingers in the softness of his t-shirt. 

“Derek, you’re scaring me,” he whispered, remembering with a jolt that his dad was actually home tonight. He wasn’t about to tell the alpha to leave when he was so clearly rattled, but Stiles didn’t think his father would take too kindly to finding a 25-year-old (exonerated!) murder suspect in his underage son’s bed, especially in their current position.

“I thought… _fuck,”_ Derek said eloquently, and Stiles realized the older man was shaking.

“Come on, talk to me, big guy,” Stiles whispered, rubbing soothing circles on Derek’s back.

“What’s going on?”

Derek pressed his nose into the column of Stiles’ throat and took a few shaky breaths.

“I had to make sure you were alive, had to… had to see you.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?” Stiles asked, getting a little nervous. Sure, being the only human in a wolf pack would always be somewhat dangerous, but Beacon Hills had been relatively peaceful recently. Not much had been going on in terms of their near-constant crusade against the forces of evil. Stiles had been getting kind of bored, if he was being honest.

“There’s… one of the members of that pack I fought, her mate… I k- killed her mate,” Derek said, and then took another shaky breath before continuing.

“I could smell that she had been in my room tonight, while I was asleep. But she didn’t kill me, she… she didn’t hurt me at all. And then I realized that she wasn’t looking for me, she was looking for my… she was looking for you. I didn’t even think, I just ran straight here. Had to see you, had to make sure…” he trailed off.

“She was looking for me,” Stiles repeated, not really understanding, “but she didn’t find me. You found me.”

Derek’s breath hitched, and Stiles reached up to thread his fingers through the alpha’s soft black hair.

“You found me, Derek. I’m okay. You’re here.”

Stiles must have fallen asleep eventually because hours later, Stiles was temporarily roused by the sound of Derek having a hushed, one-sided conversation on the other side of the room. 

“Okay. Thank you, Scott… I know… Okay. Thank you… Bye.”

It seemed the threat had been taken care of, and Stiles was safe. Already knowing what was coming, Stiles rolled over just in time to watch his window slide shut. Once again, Stiles was left alone in his room, disappointed and confused.

…

Tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday, and Stiles was lying awake in the dark, marveling at the reality that he’d actually managed to live to adulthood. When Scott was bitten, and in the midst of the unending chaos that ensued, Stiles had resigned himself to the likelihood that he wouldn’t make it to this milestone. Yet here he was. The clock on his bedside table read 12:00; he was officially an adult. He had an entire life ahead of him (so long as he didn’t die prematurely at the hands of some supernatural creepy-crawly) and he was… well, he was terrified. He had no idea what the future held for him, but he was comforted by the thought that he would always have the pack.

The digital clock ticked over to 12:01, and the red glow of the numbers in the dark room brought to mind the flashing eyes of a certain werewolf. Eyes that had been avoiding his gaze at pack meetings, and which Stiles sometimes imagined he saw outside his window, though Stiles hadn’t had a surprise night-time visit from the alpha in over a month.

A knocking sound on the window startled Stiles out of his thoughts. He slowly stood and made his way over to the window, telling himself that it was probably just Scott, here to wish him a happy birthday, preparing himself for the usual disappointment. As he got closer, however, he thought he saw moonlight glinting off black leather. 

He pushed the window open, and came face-to-face with Derek. The corners of the werewolf’s mouth quirked up shyly, and Stiles felt himself returning the small smile. 

“Can I come in?” 

Stiles stepped back and Derek climbed gracefully through the window frame. 

Derek shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and the two men stared at each other in silence for a moment. 

“Happy birthday,” Derek said finally.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, and waited patiently for the other shoe to drop.

“I, uh, got you something,” the werewolf said, pulling his right hand out of his pocket and opening his fist. Laying in his palm was something small, shiny, and key-shaped. Stiles blinked.

“It’s for the loft,” Derek explained.

“Your loft?” Stiles asked, thinking he must be misunderstanding. There’s no way Derek would give _him_ a key to the place where Derek _lived_. Right?

Derek huffed out a laugh. 

“Yes, Stiles, my loft. I figured, y’know, since I’m always breaking into your room, it’s only fair that you be able to do the same to me.”

Stiles still didn’t react, and Derek began to look nervous.

“Listen, if… if you don’t want it, that’s fine, I guess, I just thought—”

“Shut up, Derek,” Stiles said, and snatched the key before the alpha could change his mind. He studied it in his palm, felt the solid weight of it in his hand, and couldn’t help but smile.

“Of course I want it,” Stiles reassured the alpha, looking up at Derek’s relieved face, “I’m just sort of confused. Does everyone in the pack get one?.”

Stiles thought he saw the hint of a blush color Derek’s cheekbones. No way. No _way_.

“Um, no, just… just you.” Okay, apparently _yes way_.

“Why me?” Stiles blurted, and then winced internally, cursing his lack of a filter.

Derek huffed a quiet laugh.

“You know, for someone who’s actually incredibly intelligent, you sure can be stupid sometimes,” the werewolf said, stepping closer.

The smile dropped from Derek’s face quickly, however, and he raised a hand to brush his fingers gently against Stiles’ cheek. His touch was as light as a feather, but lingered like a burn. The intensity of Derek’s gaze bordered on reverence and, for the first time in a long time, Stiles dared to hope.

Derek spoke slowly, like he was weighing each word on his tongue before uttering them.

“You’re the one I want to build a home with, the one I want to fall asleep with and wake up with, every day for the rest of my life. You’re the one who keeps the pack together, who keeps _me_ together. You’re so smart it still blows me away sometimes. You challenge me and keep me human and make me a better leader, a stronger alpha. You’re my _mate,_ Stiles.”

Stiles’ breath hitched audibly, and Derek’s gaze dropped to his lips.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Derek muttered, tracing the shape of Stiles’ mouth with his thumb, “and I’ve waited two goddamn years for this, so please tell me now if—”

Stiles surged forwards and pressed his lips to Derek’s before the alpha could finish. He was as impatient as he was inexperienced, and the resulting angle felt wrong, noses pressing into cheeks uncomfortably. Stiles was about to pull away, embarrassed, but Derek just chuckled softly and grasped Stiles’ face in his hands, tilting his head slightly, and _oh_. 

Derek’s lips were soft, but he kissed him firmly, desperately, like he was trying to hold himself back and just barely succeeding. It was undoubtedly the best kiss Stiles had ever had, not that he had much to compare it to. 

When they finally broke apart, Stiles dropped his forehead onto the taller man’s shoulder to catch his breath. 

Stiles felt Derek’s lips move over his skin as he muttered, his voice barely audible, into Stiles’ temple. 

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

Stiles wondered if it was possible to die of happiness.

“Stay,” he said, turning his head to pepper kisses on Derek’s neck, jaw, cheek, anywhere he could reach.

“Don’t sneak out the window this time, please. Stay with me.”

“Now that I’ve finally got you, I don’t think I could bring myself to leave if I wanted to,” Derek admitted.

“Good,” Stiles muttered into his boyfriend’s neck, and Derek chuckled, tightening his arms around him.

The next morning, as the events of the previous night came back to him, Stiles mentally prepared himself for disappointment. When he finally forced himself to open his eyes, expecting to find an empty bed, he instead saw Derek, still asleep and sporting some truly fantastic bedhead. Relief flooded his body, and he reached out to run a hand through his boyfriend’s messy hair just because he could. Derek hummed and pressed up into the touch, and Stiles felt like his heart was going to burst.

Breakfast would be tense, to say the least. The sheriff would probably threaten Derek with his shotgun, and grill him about his dodgy history with law enforcement. Not to mention starting a committed relationship with an older man the exact day he turned legal would undoubtedly raise a lot of eyebrows around town. To his surprise, Stiles found that he really didn’t care about any of it. He knew Derek would stay, and that was more than enough for him.


End file.
